


The Blue Planet

by calrissian18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry, Auror Ron, Betrayed Draco, Casual Sex, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Mystery, OC Character Death, Turned Serious, descriptions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-31
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 13:17:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco have a tentative relationship but when an Auror case throws doubt on exactly how reformed Draco Malfoy has become, Harry’s left wondering whom to trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Blue Planet

 

Draco Malfoy’s eyes were grey.  
  
Harry stared down into them, wondering how someone who looked so cold could be so warm. There were little whitish specks like snowflakes crowding around his pupil where the striations of grey darkened. Harry couldn’t help but wonder, _what in the bloody hell was a man with eyes like that doing in his bed and how could he trick him into staying there forever?_  
  
Harry tracked every inch of his fair skin, his white-blond hair and his pale lips. He thought if winter had a poster child, Malfoy would be it. Then he chastised himself for being so stupidly poetic and heartsick over the bloke he was shagging.  
  
“You want tea?”  
  
Malfoy’s nose wrinkled in a way that would have been endearing on anyone else. His was accompanied by a frown however. “Your breath is like the Black Death, brush your teeth before you start on with the rest of the morning routine.”  
  
The word ‘routine’ spooked him a bit but Harry pulled himself back together, stuffing down the flutter in his throat. He breathed straight into Malfoy’s face before bounding off the bed and going to do as ordered, not daring to look back and beaming the whole trek to the bathroom.  
  
Malfoy was sitting at the kitchen counter by the time he finished, his breakfast already prepared, his tea conspicuously missing. Harry rolled his eyes even though he didn’t really feel all that annoyed and set about busying himself with the kettle.  
  
Malfoy’s head was still in that morning’s _Prophet_ when he asked conversationally, “Any plans for the weekend?”  
  
Harry shrugged, his hand halfway into his box of bran flakes while he waited for the kettle to sing. “I dunno.” He shoved a handful of flakes into his mouth, chewed and thought. “I fergured I uld see fwat Rorn an ‘Ermione er uhp to.”  
  
Malfoy set the paper down in a careful motion, sweeping his fringe out of his eyes. His gaze could most readily be described as piercing. “My parents will be having a small gathering on Saturday evening. I’d like it if you would attend.” He stared at Harry as he chomped on more cereal as though second-guessing how smart the invitation was.  
  
Harry didn’t care, he was too busy being pleased that Malfoy had both understood him and refrained from commenting on his table manners for the millionth time. They’d reached such a happy medium in their relationship. Fucking. In their fucking. They emphatically did not have a relationship.  
  
Harry scratched at an imagined itch on his shoulder. “Like, as your date?” he asked, his face scrunched up.  
  
“As my acquaintance recently turned friend.” Malfoy’s gaze hadn’t wavered in the least.  
  
Harry fidgeted. “I think I’d rather spend my weekend with Ron and Hermione, if it’s all the same to you. They’ve never tried to kill me.”  
  
Malfoy smirked. He went back to his article with a little nod. “But you’ll come with me,” Malfoy said as though he was finishing Harry’s sentence.  
  
Harry was already half-turned around to watch the pot when he processed the sly rejoinder. He spun back. “What makes you so sure?” he challenged.  
  
Malfoy’s left shoulder tipped up as he took a clean bite out of his marmalade-smothered toast. His eyebrow twitched. “You’re in love with me, Potter. You’d jump into a pile of Devil’s Snare if I told you I’d lost my favorite quill in it.”  
  
“No—I—that’s,” Harry gaped and finished lamely, “a bit of an exaggeration.” He sank into the seat across from Malfoy, his arm still shoved in the bran box. He stretched it out across the table and used the other to hold up his head, which suddenly seemed so heavy it might fall right off his neck altogether. “I didn’t know you knew,” he huffed out slowly. He’d only just figured it out for himself after all.  
  
Malfoy patted the box over his hand. “You’re terribly obvious about it, my dear.”  
  
Harry looked up at him with wide eyes. “I know we’re just meant to be shagging and I’m not asking for anything. I don’t want—”  
  
“Potter,” Malfoy cut him off. Harry focused on his spectacularly grey eyes. “I’m still here.”  
  
Harry smiled weakly and agreed. “Yeah. You are.” And because he couldn’t _Avada_ himself fast enough, he blurted out, “And do you…” He groaned. “Never mind, don’t answer that. I’m just going to finish the tea and then go hang myself in the cupboard.”  
  
Malfoy laughed. Harry really liked being able to make him laugh. “First, if you’re intent on doing something so foolish you don’t want to diminish the act by staging it in a cupboard. I suggest the middle of Diagon, something that’s going to have people talking about how flashy it was for ages. Oh, or perhaps hanging down in front of Big Ben, like a morbid third hand always pointing to twelve.” He took a thoughtful bite of his toast. “It’s possible no one would find you for days, weeks even, if you go the cupboard route and by then it will be more about the gross factor of a bloated, maggoty week-old body than anything else—”  
  
“Thanks,” Harry muttered mordantly.  
  
“Second,” Malfoy went on uninterrupted, looking pleased as he smiled at Harry, his point clearly made, “when and if something like that comes up, I’ll decide where and when to say it, understand?” Malfoy demanded, eyeing him carefully.  
  
Harry nodded with a slow swallow. He did understand. Malfoy owning up to the possibility of it happening was tantamount to admitting that it already had. Harry’s smile was quite unstoppable even as he tried to play the moment off as coolly as possible. Malfoy looked amused. The kettle started up its beaten caterwaul and Harry shot up from his seat, forgetting to clench his fist inside the cereal box so it fell and little bran flakes scattered across every inch of the tile.  
  
Malfoy didn’t look amused any longer and Harry was still grinning like an idiot.

* * *

Saturday came all too quickly in Harry’s estimation and he was beginning to regret his quick agreement in the afterglow of Malfoy’s revelation. “I’m out of place,” he whined as they stood in the foyer of the Manor, where they’d been for the past fifteen minutes or so, during which time Harry had tried no less than seven times to dart for the door without Malfoy noticing. He fiddled with his tie again.  
  
Malfoy slapped his hand away. “You’re not,” he insisted, smacking his hand away from his tie a second time. “Would you _stop_ it,” he hissed.  
  
Harry looked down at himself woefully. “I look like a prat.”  
  
Malfoy stared as well, deciding, “No one’s denying that.”  
  
“Draco,” Harry whined.  
  
Malfoy drew in a sharp breath and arched one of his sleek brows. “Draco?” he parroted.  
  
Harry knew his stupid cheeks were flushing and he scowled down at his shoes. He bit the inside of his cheek and looked up at Malfoy defiantly. “When whinging petulantly, Malfoy just won’t do. With Draco you can draw out the ‘o’ nice and long.”  
  
Malfoy seemed to consider this for a moment and responded with a slight smile, “Well I can’t fault that logic.”  
  
Harry finally gathered up his courage from where it’d shattered on the floor earlier and tried to shove it into some semblance of working order as he peeked around the corner. He had quickly learned that ‘small gathering’ in Malfoy-speak meant about four hundred people and some change, not to mention his boss, Head Auror Dawkins and his wife. He’d been gobsmacked when he’d seen the ballroom swarming with hundreds of guests and had gaped at Narcissa as she greeted them at the door like a proper hostess, managing a squeaky, “I didn’t realize this was going to be a big to do,” while he pulled at his tie. “I thought it was just meant to be a small gathering,” he added, shooting daggers at Malfoy.  
  
Narcissa, who looked radiant in a backless shimmery thing that seemed to be communicating to Harry in sparkly Morse Code that he was _severely_ underdressed and about to make quite an idiot of himself, looked at him askance. “This _is_ a small gathering, Mr. Potter,” she had replied sharply before sweeping away with elegance.  
  
Harry pulled his head back from its reconnaissance mission. “Your father looks like he wants to kill me.”  
  
“Hmm,” Malfoy started, not seeming all that interested in Harry’s imminent death, “he most likely does. His life is so much harder as you’re not dead.”  
  
Harry frowned, his hands starting to sweat. “You’re not being funny.”  
  
Malfoy blinked round eyes at him. “I wasn’t trying to be,” he said, his brow furrowing.  
  
Harry bent over and put his hands on his knees. “I think I’m hyperventilating,” he informed Malfoy, pulling at his tie again.  
  
“Would you stop already?” Malfoy pestered, sounding exasperated. “You’re fine,” he reassured. “You’re the Boy Who Lived.”  
  
Harry groaned but managed to straighten up. “I’m the Boy Whose Boyfriend’s Parents Terrified Him Into an Early Grave.” He shut his mouth with a snap but it was too late, the words were out. His hands were shaking and he twisted them up in his robes. He couldn’t have just said ‘boyfriend,’ not out loud at least. He barely refrained from slamming his head up against the wall like a bad house-elf. Malfoy was the most skittish bloke he’d ever met and Harry was sure that, in Malfoy’s head, that was as good as proposing. Harry took a deep breath. “I don’t think—”  
  
“Now that’s much too long, it’ll never catch on,” Malfoy interrupted, smoothing his hand over Harry’s shoulder as though brushing away lint and Harry knew he was forgiven, at least for the moment. Harry’s hand moved up to his tie and Malfoy clenched his jaw and forced out, “ _Stop_ fidgeting. You look like you’re trying to strangle yourself.”  
  
Harry grinned shakily. “Too obvious, huh?”  
  
Malfoy smiled, looking both amused and exhausted. “Hush, you’re fine.”  
  
Malfoy started to walk forward and Harry grabbed his hand before he could enter the ballroom. “You can’t leave my side, you know?” he asked with a cringing and – he hoped – endearing sort of grin.  
  
Malfoy patted their cupped hands with his free one. “You’ll be fine.”  
  
“Oh Merlin,” Harry blurted in panic, “I know that condescending rubbish. You _are_ planning to leave my side, aren’t you?”  
  
Malfoy smirked. “You know Pansy and Blaise.”  
  
“Stop it, it’s not funny,” Harry said anxiously, squeezing Malfoy’s hand tighter. “You can’t leave me.”  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes and Harry was honestly surprised it had taken him that long. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for him to hold that in. “Shall I hold your hand through the whole evening?” he asked dryly.  
  
Harry swallowed and let him go but not before assuring him, “I would.”  
  
Malfoy’s grey eyes softened. “I know you would. Now, do you feel tough?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Malfoy grinned. “Fake it then, Golden Boy.”  
  
Harry nodded, reminding himself to breathe and tried to walk in with confidence, which was probably a moot point as most the couples in the main room had walked right past him having his fit in the foyer on their way in. To his surprise, however, the night was actually going fairly well. Malfoy had stayed by his side as promised, helped him when he forgot the name of the person he was speaking to and continuously smiled in a rather reassuring manner at him. He’d managed to compliment Narcissa on her Morse Code dress and to congratulate Lucius on picking an excellent wine, after Malfoy had assured him it was. Narcissa had seemed pleased. Lucius had barely withheld his sneer.  
  
The only hiccup that came was when Harry had left for the loo and returned to find that Malfoy had all but disappeared. He’d looked around the ballroom in panic, trying to be discreet. After five minutes of frantic searching, he swallowed his pride and decided to ask two of his least favorite people where Malfoy had gotten to.   
  
Pansy’s eyes lit up when she recognized Harry. “Potter,” she purred, “how nice to see you.” She shared a sly look with Zabini and smiled. “And sticking so close to Draco’s side too.”  
  
Harry’s collar felt tight. Parkinson and Zabini were looking at him a little too knowingly. “Er, I was actually coming to ask you if you know where he is.”  
  
Zabini smirked. “Wouldn’t want to miss out on a moment, would you, Potter?”  
  
“Sorry?” Harry asked in confusion, the back of his neck getting hot.  
  
Zabini leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “You might want to be a bit less obvious about the fact that you’re shagging Draco. Narcissa already suspects and you don’t even want to imagine what would happen if Lucius got wind of it.”  
  
“Wh—Bu—I’m not! Malfoy and I are just _friends_ ,” Harry sputtered.  
  
Parkinson tutted. “So you’re not aware of the absurd grin that’s been on your face every time you so much as glance at him? I swear, you’re as bad as Lovegood.”  
  
“I don’t, I haven’t—”  
  
“You needn’t hurt yourself denying it, Potter,” Zabini said, a spark of cruel mockery in his dark eyes. “I know exactly how thick Draco’s arse can make men.”  
  
Harry’s eyes narrowed. There was something in the way Zabini had said ‘exactly’ that made Harry think he knew from firsthand experience. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Where is Draco?”  
  
Zabini was still grinning. “Out on the balcony.” Harry turned on his heel instantly, eager to be away from the both of them, when he heard Zabini’s laughter followed by a taunting, “Good luck, lover boy.”  
  
Harry was still fuming by the time he found his way to the balcony Malfoy was on, imagining dark hands wandering over pale skin. He wanted to grab Malfoy by the shoulders, shove him up against a wall and remind him precisely whom he belonged to. He tore open the door just in time to hear the tail end of Malfoy’s harsh sentence.  
  
“—know my reputation, Jankins. I won’t hesitate to prove how I’ve gotten it.” Malfoy sounded sincerely dangerous. Harry closed the door softly behind him and saw Malfoy on the other side of the curved balcony, his face inches away from a rather chubby man’s. His back was against the wall and Malfoy’s finger was almost touching his nose.  
  
The man swallowed and lifted his chin, saying in a voice that shook, “I shan’t be censored, Mr. Malfoy.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed and his voice lowered to a hiss. “I would be very careful about your next move. A step in the wrong direction might make your life considerably more miserable.”  
  
The man couldn’t quite suppress his full body shiver and he turned his face away from Malfoy’s sneering one and jumped when he spotted Harry. “Ah, I’ll just be—” he started before he slipped away from Malfoy and scurried off the balcony.  
  
Harry approached Malfoy cautiously. “What was all that about?”  
  
Malfoy ran a hand through his hair. “Nothing,” he growled. “It’s handled.”  
  
“But what—”  
  
Malfoy plastered a smile on his face and asked, “Shall we get back to the party, ah, the gathering rather,” even as he looped his arm through Harry’s and pulled him back inside.  
  
“Okay,” Harry answered uncertainly, feeling a bit dazed.

* * *

Harry arrived at work on Monday morning still feeling like he'd been trampled flat from Saturday’s entertainment. He didn’t even have a chance to sit down before Ron was shoving coffee at him and spouting off, “Oy, don’t get comfortable, Collins and Fisher’s killer has struck again and Dawkins is organizing a task force. Meeting started five minutes ago and Margaret says even the Minister’s in attendance.”  
  
Harry groaned and instantly turned back around the way he’d come. The meeting was indeed already in progress when he and Ron slipped inside. “This is the third in as many weeks with the same magical signature, sir,” Collins was saying, standing halfway between the Minister and Dawkins as though he didn’t know whom to address. Harry stared up at the images that were being projected above Fisher's and Collins’ heads. They were photos of the three victims with captions underneath:  


_Julia Timmons, 34, St. Mungo’s Healer, found on the corner of Eldridge and March on 28, June 2002_

_Pollux Cheatham, 44, Chair of Budgetary Committee, found in his office (Ministry, Lvl 5) on 14, September 2002_

_Marvin Jankins, 48, Journalist for the Daily Prophet, found in his home on Alphard Drive on 17, November 2002_

  
“I know him,” Harry blurted out when his eyes landed on the photograph of the third victim.  
  
Fisher, who had been mid-sentence paused and all heads turned to look at him. “What?” Fisher asked coolly while Collins blinked at him from the seat at Fisher’s elbow, his teeth scraping against the inside of his cheek.  
  
Harry’s cheeks flushed and he swallowed down his embarrassment and said in a rather rambling fashion, “The third victim, I know him. I mean, I don’t _know_ him. I saw him.” Harry gestured helplessly. “He was arguing with Malfoy on Saturday.”  
  
Ron stiffened next to him. “Where was this?” he bit out.  
  
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. Right. He’d blown off Ron and Hermione, citing unfinished reports as the culprit. “Er. At Malfoy Manor. The Malfoys were having a small gathering.” Damn, but they’d trained him well.  
  
“What were you doing there?” Ron demanded, his voice even tougher than before.  
  
This was so not a conversation he wanted to be having in front of their coworkers, let alone his superiors. “Malfoy invited me, we’re sort of… friends.”  
  
Ron’s eyes looked like they might bug out of his head entirely. “Since when?”  
  
Harry shrugged and said in a small voice, “Since we decided we were too old to hold on to childish grudges.” Or more accurately when Harry had gotten spectacularly smashed, realized Malfoy was quite pretty – always had been really – and tired to snog his soul out of him after Seamus’ party last year.  
  
Harry was taken aback when Collins stood a second time and made his way back to the podium. He’d been an Auror less than a year and he was nothing more than a sprat in the grand scheme of things while Fisher had been on the force over two decades and was well respected by everyone in that room. “Minister, if you’ll allow me…” he said anxiously and waited for Kingsley to nod his approval. “This does fit into a pattern of sorts.”  
  
Dawkins furrowed his brow. “Potter knowing the victims?”  
  
There was a bit of laughter and Collins offered a self-deprecating smile. “No, sir. Draco Malfoy,” he corrected, chewing the inside of his cheek again.  
  
Harry stiffened.  
  
“He was seen arguing with all three victims only days before they died. Timmons refused to treat Lucius Malfoy on the twenty-fourth for a chronic cough and Malfoy was seen having a heated discussion with her outside her office the next day. Cheatham declined a rather large donation from the Malfoys for an orphanage designed to take in Muggle-born children. Malfoy wrote him a strongly worded letter the week before his death. I was not aware of any quarrel between him and Jankins, but if we can believe Auror Potter,” he offered a little smile at that as there was no more trusted word, “then he also had some issue with him as well. If nothing else, it’s a rather large coincidence.”  
  
Kingsley cleared his throat. “That’s a grand novation you’ve got there, son, but I don’t know how much weight it holds.” Harry knew Kingsley at least had had enough of scapegoating the Malfoys.  
  
Collins clenched his hands around the podium’s edges. “I’m only telling you how the facts play out, any points you’re connecting are your own, Minister.”  
  
“Malfoy’s not a killer,” Harry defended a bit too loud and entirely unintentionally. “Besides,” he tried, “we have Malfoy’s magical signature on file. It didn’t match, did it?”  
  
“It’s not that difficult to procure a second wand and that we _wouldn’t_ have on file.” Collins’ mouth twisted, momentarily staying his gnawing. “We can’t rule out the possibility, Auror Potter.”  
  
Harry opened his mouth to argue but Dawkins stood before he could get a word out. “I think that concludes today’s briefing. Be vigilant out there, men. Ah, and woman, Abigail.”  
  
Harry hung back as the others filed out and grabbed Ron’s arm as he made to leave. “Malfoy didn’t kill anyone.”  
  
Ron gave him a long, searching look before he nodded sharply. “I believe you.”  
  
Harry offered him a grateful smile.

* * *

Sadly, the evidence was not helping him prove Malfoy’s innocence and since he and Ron weren’t the primaries on the case, he could only watch helplessly as the coincidences seemed to pile up against him. Finally the time came when they could stall no further and they were forced to bring Malfoy in for questioning. Harry hung his head as Dawkins broke the news and only asked that he be permitted to go along with Collins and Fisher when they apprehended him. Dawkins agreed, Fisher and Collins however felt like he was encroaching on their case and were less than inclusive.  
  
In the end, Harry wasn’t all that surprised when they left without him. Only after Ariadne mentioned offhand that she thought he was meant to go with them did he realize he’d been duped. He Apparated directly into Malfoy Manor, surprised when the wards allowed it, to find Malfoy bound on the floor with Fisher kneeling over him.  
  
“Don’t concern yourself,” Fisher grunted out as Malfoy struggled beneath him. “I’ve already got him all trussed up, Potter. We’re perfectly capable of handling ourselves.”  
  
It took everything Harry had not to stomp over to them and kick Fisher in the head. He opened his mouth, fists shaking, when Collins called out sharply from the next room. “Fisher!”  
  
“Bit busy,” Fisher growled back.  
  
A moment later, Collins swept into the room with a Pensieve in his hands, looking at Harry with surprise, quickly followed by distaste. “I told you he was involved.” He hefted the Pensieve onto the desk in the middle of the room. “We’ve got all the proof we need right here. Go ahead and see for yourself,” he said gleefully, guiding his palm toward it.  
  
Harry lowered his brows in suspicion and stalked over to the stone basin, expecting some sort of trick. Collins just continued to grin maniacally at him and Harry lowered his face into the swirling substance. Immediately shadows began to take form and Harry saw Malfoy standing over the chubby man he’d seen him arguing with at the gathering. He was trembling and his toupee had come partway unglued as he scrambled away from Malfoy.  
  
Harry blinked but there was no mistaking it. It was Malfoy from the too-blond hair all the way to the snowflakes in his eyes.  
  
Malfoy’s voice was cold and held the same cadence it always did when he placed his foot on the man’s round belly to stop his panicked crabwalk backwards. “You’re scum, Jankins. I’m doing the world a favor, don’t you think?”  
  
“N-no. Malfoy, p-please. I won’t publish a word,” the man whimpered, cowering.  
  
Malfoy’s eyebrows danced and he seemed as if was… _enjoying_ himself. “Oh you’re right about that. You’ll never publish another word again.” He pointed his wand straight at the man’s heart and hissed with a sneer Harry recognized all too well, “ _Avada Kedavra_.”  
  
Harry threw himself out of the Pensieve, unable to believe what he’d just seen. It couldn’t have been true. Malfoy wouldn’t have killed anyone, he _couldn’t_ have. But there was no mistaking him and Harry would have known if the memory had been tampered with. He also couldn’t deny that he had seen with his own two eyes that they’d been arguing only days before and Malfoy _had_ threatened his life.   
  
How much did he really know about Malfoy now anyway? Sure they slept together but they rarely _talked_ and certainly not about anything of consequence when they did. Malfoy was always keeping him at arm’s length and maybe this was why. Could he have changed so much since school that killing came so easily to him?  
  
Something in his countenance must have broadcasted the defeat he felt as Malfoy’s eyes went wide and he demanded, “What could you possibly have seen, Potter?” He had been propped up in a chair since Harry’s trip into the Pensieve but he was still bound.  
  
Merlin, it hurt to look at him and Harry found himself focusing on his shoulder rather than his face as he croaked out, “I saw you. As you really are.” _A murderer_ , he didn’t say as he glanced at Malfoy’s hands. Could those be the same hands that had roved every inch of his body?  
  
Malfoy stared up at him in disbelief.  
  
Harry hung his head and stopped as he walked past, feeling worse than betrayed. He turned towards Malfoy but his eyes rested on the carpet by his feet. “I’m,” he paused, his lips nearly bloodless, “ashamed. Of you. Of what you were to me.” His eyes focused on Malfoy’s right cheekbone, unable to look into the wintry grey he’d fallen so hard for. He was trembling all over but he managed to keep his voice steady. “For your sake, I hope I never see your face again, Draco Malfoy.”  
  
He Apparated just in time to hear Fisher reading Malfoy his rights.

* * *

Harry was miserable. Ron, surprisingly, seemed to cotton onto the cause of it right away. “You weren’t just friends, were you?” he said one afternoon when all Harry could seem to do was stare at his desk and sigh.  
  
Harry thought about denying it for all of a second. “No, we weren’t.”  
  
Ron cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, mate.”  
  
“He’s a good man.” Harry rubbed at his forehead. “I know how stupid that sounds but if he—if he killed those people, then he must’ve had a reason. He must’ve been protecting himself, or his family.”  
  
Ron lowered the parchment he’d been working on. “Are you going to testify?”  
  
Harry shrugged. “If he’ll let me.” He’d tried to visit Malfoy twice in Azkaban but he not only refused to speak to him, he’d had the guard tell him as much. Harry wanted Malfoy to know that he still supported him, even after what he’d done. He couldn’t love him, but he could stand behind him. He supposed Malfoy felt too guilty about what he’d done to meet him.  
  
The door opened, interrupting Harry from his thoughts. “Mr. Potter, there’s an owl for you.” He noticed the way Gemma was bending her finger and she scowled when she caught his eye. “Damn thing snapped at me when I tried to take the letter.”  
  
Harry walked out to the reception desk to find an impressive eagle owl waiting for him. Harry eyed it carefully as he removed the letter and was surprised to find it was from Narcissa Malfoy. He waited until he’d returned to his office to read it through, knowing how public opinion on the Malfoys had soured even further. He heard Gemma trying to offer the bird a treat before it squawked and flew off, followed by her frustrated, “Fine, be that way then!”  
  
He closed the door behind him and slumped into his seat. He read the whole thing through twice before Ron interrupted.  
  
“Who’s it from?”  
  
Harry scrubbed at the scruff on his chin. “Narcissa Malfoy, she wants me to meet her at the Manor.”  
  
“What do you think she wants?” Ron asked carefully.  
  
Harry shrugged. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Well, get going then.”  
  
Harry blinked. “What?”  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you’re going to get anything done here,” he gestured to his still untouched in-box. “You might as well see what she wants.”  
  
Harry grinned at him. “Thanks, mate.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Ron said with his own grin, waving him off.

* * *

He was greeted at the door by the Malfoy’s house-elf who informed him that ‘Mistress’ was in the gardens. Harry followed it until it led him to Mrs. Malfoy, who was taking her tea in the middle of an open greenhouse, only a roof to its structure.  
  
“Hello, Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry said guardedly as she offered him the seat across from her. She wasn’t wearing robes in the warm weather but was dressed in a rather smart pinstripe jacket and skirt that alternated between cream and black. “You look lovely.” It felt odd saying so but Draco had told him that the way to his mother’s heart was to compliment her fashion sense. The thought was followed by a not unfamiliar pang. He shook it off.  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Potter. And you look… professional.” She shooed the house-elf away and asked politely, “Tea?”  
  
“No, thank you.”  
  
She nodded cleanly. “No doubt you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here.”  
  
Harry gave her an awkward smile. “It did cross my mind, Mrs. Malfoy.”  
  
She fiddled with the handle of her cup. “I want to know what you’re doing to free my son.”  
  
Harry started. “Excuse me?”  
  
She eyed him sharply and Harry felt pinned beneath her stare. “You of all people must know that Draco did not do this.”  
  
“Me of all people?” Harry repeated weakly.  
  
Narcissa smiled. “A mother always knows, Mr. Potter. So surely you’re aware that Draco is not capable of such things. Lucius has been campaigning for his freedom almost around the clock but his word doesn’t hold as much sway as it once did, as I’m sure you can imagine.”  
  
“Mrs. Malfoy,” Harry swallowed and squeezed at his own tense fingers, “I saw the memory of it for myself.”  
  
“I don’t know how,” Narcissa retorted coolly, “but it is doctored.” She took in Harry’s nervous shifting and said with unconcealed disgust, “I thought we would find an ally in you.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I wish I could help you,” Harry said earnestly.  
  
Narcissa stared down into her tea and said softly, “Get out of my home, Mr. Potter. I do not wish anyone to set foot in it who believes Draco capable of such a monstrous act.”  
  
Harry left without another word, his chest feeling so tight it was hard to catch his breath.

* * *

Harry was sure that Narcissa Malfoy had accomplished what she’d set out to that day as the seed of doubt was more than planted. And though the evidence seemed irrefutable, Harry was going to either prove it so conclusively that all his doubts were silenced forever or he was going to tear it all down himself. When he told Ron that he would no longer be working on any of their open cases to focus on proving Malfoy’s innocence, the redhead had only stared at him, grabbed up his cloak and said, “Where to first?”  
  
Two weeks in and Harry was beginning to feel a bit beaten down. Collins’ story had turned out to be true and Malfoy _had_ argued with all the victims only days before their deaths. Harry had found out that Jankins had been extorting Malfoy to keep the article ‘ **LUCIUS MALFOY, THE MOST DANGEROUS OF THEM ALL** ’ out of print. The man had turned out to be quite an unsavory little opportunist who wasn’t above printing loads of lies and half-truths to sell papers.  
  
They visited all the sites where the crimes had been committed and hadn’t found any looked-over evidence or previously unheard from witnesses. They were just finishing up with Jankins’ townhouse when they got their first break.  
  
An older gentleman and his yorkie were just rounding the corner onto Alphard Drive as they stepped off the stoop. Harry checked his watch. Right around the time Jankins was murdered. He hustled over to them and held out his charmed Muggle badge. “Excuse me, sir, do you walk your dog around this time every night?”  
  
The man ruffled the fur on his dog’s head while it wandered around at his feet, sniffing at Harry’s shoes. “Yep,” he said happily. “I’ve lived in the neighborhood twenty years and I’ve been walking Jeppy around it for the last ten. All the neighbors know her, don’t they, girl?” he cooed down at his dog.  
  
Ron had joined them by then and pointed back to Jankins’ home. “Did you know the man who lived here?”  
  
The man nodded. “Mr. Jankins, quiet one, he is.”  
  
“Ah,” Harry started delicately, “I’m sorry to inform you, sir, but Mr. Jankins has passed away.”  
  
The man frowned. “Oh, oh dear. Some sort of investigative journalist, wasn’t he?” He didn’t wait for a confirmation, seeming eager to gossip about his recently deceased neighbor. “He was always coming and going at odd hours. Was it something to do with his work that…?”  
  
“We don’t know but he was murdered here, in his home, on Monday evening,” Ron told him swiftly. “Did you see anyone coming or going that night?”  
  
The man looked uneasy for the first time. “Well, I—I did see something but I can’t have seen what I saw, you see?”  
  
“I’m sorry?” Harry asked, his head beginning to hurt.  
  
“You’ll think I’m mad,” he warned, taking a tiny step back.  
  
Harry shot a look at Ron, hardly able to keep the eagerness out of his tone. “I promise you we won’t.”  
  
“How could you not,” the man argued, “ _I_ think I’m mad.” He leaned down and picked up his dog, either for comfort or to stop her from peeing on Ron’s trainer.  
  
“Mister…” Harry started.  
  
“Billings,” the man told him a bit reluctantly.  
  
“Mr. Billings, please tell us what happened,” Harry encouraged.  
  
The man nodded. “Well, I did see someone leaving his flat that night, the only thing is… He was a blond fellow, real blond – almost white even, tall too, maybe 6’3”, one of those aristocratic noses.” He put Jeppy down to mime the nose with his fingers and Harry deflated. He swallowed uneasily. “But see, here’s where it gets odd. I would swear to you, on my mum’s grave, that’s what the man looked like but when he got to the bottom of the stoop, well, he was a different man altogether.”  
  
“What did the second man look like?” Harry barked out eagerly, his enthusiasm returning.  
  
Mr. Billings frowned at him. “Now, it was the _same_ man. I know how mad that sounds but—”  
  
“Yes, yes,” Harry waved him off, “what did he look like when he got to the bottom of the stoop?” They hadn’t even considered Polyjuice because Malfoy had been so well 'acted,' down to where he paused for breath.  
  
Mr. Billings frowned thoughtfully before answering, “Well, he was at least five inches shorter, dark brown hair that was a bit messier – not quite your _situation_ ,” he said, pointing at the rat’s nest on Harry’s head, “but not nearly as straight as it’d been before either, his eyes were darker too.”  
  
“Can you think of anything distinguishing, a tattoo or a scar or maybe even a smell?” Ron asked.  
  
Billings shook his head and Harry and Ron shared a frustrated look. At the very least, they knew now that it hadn’t been Malfoy. Harry felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.  
  
He was halfway through thanking Billings for his time when the man perked up and interrupted, “Oh wait, there was one thing.” Harry and Ron looked at him eagerly. “He was chewing the inside of his cheek quite a bit if that helps.”  
  
They turned to face one another and said together, “Collins.”  
  
Jeppy took that opportunity to pee on Ron’s trainers in celebration.

* * *

After they’d presented the new evidence to Dawkins and Ron had dried out his shoes, they’d confronted Collins who’d denied the accusations wholeheartedly. At least until he found out that Malfoy was being released from Azkaban either way. He’d slumped into the chair on the other side of the interrogation room and sneered up at them. “He should have been left to rot.”  
  
Ron grabbed Harry’s arm before he could take a step. “And why’s that, Collins?” Ron asked, gentling his tone to better suit the role of ‘good cop.’  
  
Collins looked slightly demented as he leaned across the table. “Because he’s scum, just like the rest of them.”  
  
Harry couldn’t hold back any longer. “Why?” he demanded. “Why kill those people and why frame Malfoy for it?”  
  
“They deserved what they got. All of them,” Collins hissed through clenched teeth, shooting to his feet and glaring at Harry. “Timmons was supposed to _help_ my sister!” He said it like an accusation. “I came to her, begging her to implement a new treatment for Cruciatus victims, one that mixed Muggle and magical methods but she couldn’t _fund_ it. The Ministry doesn’t _approve_ of Muggle medicine.” He threw an angry glare at the glass Dawkins was undoubtedly standing behind.  
  
“Do you know how much even the most basic care costs at Mungo’s?” he demanded. “There was no way I could afford it on my own, not on an Auror’s salary. I went to Cheatham.” His eyes darkened as he lost himself to the story. “His sole job was to decide which institutes were _worthy_ of Ministry funding and I pleaded with him to help my family. All he had to do was pre-approve the study but, because it was Muggle, he thought it was too great a _risk_. And you call yourselves reformed,” he spat out, looking down his nose at them. “And Jankins,” his voice went high-pitched, “ _Jankins_ was a bottom-feeder. He found out about my sister, about what happened to her during the war and he was going to use her as some sort of prop _to sell papers_. She’s all I have and they condemned her!” he screeched.  
  
Harry waited until he’d calmed down and lowered himself back into his seat, huffing, to ask quietly, “Why drag Draco into it?”  
  
Collins lifted his chin defiantly. “Who do you think tortured her into insanity? I wanted Lucius Malfoy to feel exactly the way I do. I wanted him to have the most important person in _his_ life taken away.” A mad grin split his face. “I could only hope Azkaban would turn Draco Malfoy barmy too.”  
  
And there it was, finally out in the open. Malfoy was innocent and Harry was fucked.

* * *

Malfoy was less than gracious about his release and took great pleasure in mocking the Ministry, the Auror Department and the complete lack of common sense between the two. He hadn’t looked at Harry once.  
  
“As if I would keep a memory of myself killing the man so readily availabe,” he said loudly as he reentered the study where he’d been arrested only weeks before. “One generally tends to dispose of evidence, not keep it about in easily accessible areas for the first Auror to knock on his door to find.” He glared at Ron and continued to pretend as if Harry didn’t exist. “Of course the neatly wrapped bow wasn’t hint enough.”  
  
Ron’s fingers tightened on his wand in an effort to remain in control. “He was one of us, Malfoy.”  
  
“More fool you,” Malfoy retorted without hesitation.  
  
“We had every reason to suspect you,” Ron shot back defensively.  
  
Harry cleared his throat and spoke up, angry and tense and feeling vulnerable to the extreme. “He only did what he did because your father tortured his sister to insanity,” at Malfoy’s blank look, Harry added harshly, “a specialty of your family’s, isn’t it?”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “I see, Bellatrix’s sins are my own then?” He didn’t say anything about his father’s and Harry knew that was because Malfoy would gladly have accepted Lucius’ evils if he thought it could protect him. There was little he wouldn’t do for his family. “What a colorless little world you live in, Potter. You have no idea why my father did what he did.”  
  
“I know there’s nothing that justifies torture,” Harry said with vehemence.  
  
Malfoy turned his head away with a knowing snort. “It’s all just black and white to you. Must be why you feel so safe up there on your pedestal.” He turned fierce grey eyes on Harry. “The girl was a Muggle-born and it was her bad luck that she got caught by the Snatchers.” Harry opened his mouth to call Malfoy callous but he had already moved on. “I saw her, you know, she had spirit and fire and from the moment little Annabelle got here, Voldemort wanted to break her.  
  
“He gave her to his loyal Death Eaters to do what they would with her. My father was last in line due to his disgrace and by the time he got to her she was already raving and violent. She spent all her time throwing herself at the bars of her cell, clawing at her skin, pulling out handfuls of her own hair. She was more than mad when she reached him. He held her under Cruciatus until her mind was broken because he thought it was crueler to ask her to live with the memories. It was the only kindness he could offer her.”  
  
Harry couldn’t pretend not to be stunned and from Ron’s gobsmacked expression, he knew he wasn’t alone in that.  
  
“It was war,” Malfoy said coldly. “We did what we had to. You, because you got _lucky_ , you expected all the rest of us to have the same luxury. You didn’t have to kill, _you_ didn’t have to dirty your hands but I guarantee the rest of your army couldn’t say the same.” He threw a pointed glance at Ron, which only made him stand taller.  
  
Harry still had nightmares about what Ron had done when they’d found Rookwood but he knew Ron considered it justice and nothing more.  
  
“Auror Weasley,” Fisher called from the hall, offering a stern nod to Malfoy when they caught one another’s eyes. Malfoy sneered back at him.  
  
Ron left the room and Harry started to speak, coughed around the frog in his throat and managed a truly pitiful, “I’m sorry.”  
  
Malfoy just stared at him as though he couldn’t quite believe Harry was still in the room, let alone speaking to him. Harry swallowed and couldn’t stop himself from reaching out for Malfoy’s hand. Malfoy pulled away, holding his arm against his stomach as though he feared all it would take was one touch from Harry to make all his carefully taped up places fall apart. His eyes cut away. “A little too weak and far too late.”  
  
“I know,” Harry agreed. “I’m not asking for anything. Just, if I had known—”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes flashed. “You should have.” The words came out so hard and so fast that Harry flinched.  
  
He swallowed and stared at his shoes, seeking to look nothing but contrite. He knew he had no moral high ground to stand on any longer and even if Malfoy had been dead wrong – which he wasn’t – Harry would have agreed. He was in no position to argue anymore. “You’re right. I should have,” was all he said but Malfoy didn’t seem to care anymore. He was staring out the doorway Ron had walked through only moments before, his entire body strung tight.  
  
His pale fingers clenched on the back of the chair in front of him, his knuckles white. Harry recognized the action from when they’d gotten stuck in a room with Zacharias Smith at the Ministry Christmas party last year. Malfoy really hated him that much. Harry turned away, a sharp heat ringing his eyes.  
  
Draco was done with him and the knowledge _hurt_ much more than Harry would have thought. He had been sure he was over Draco but the second he’d known it wasn’t true – and, damn it, but Malfoy was right. He _should_ have known – he’d had hope again. He’d wanted again.  
  
And he was alone in that.  
  
Ron reentered the room with Malfoy’s release papers in hand. “All right, Malfoy. Everything seems to check out,” he conceded with a nod of his head. “You’re free to go with the Ministry’s thanks and a warning to continue to keep your nose clean.”  
  
“A pleasure as always, Weasel,” Malfoy rejoined sarcastically.

* * *

Malfoy’s paperwork had somehow gotten lost – in the bin by Harry’s desk – and Harry took it upon himself to see that the forms were signed a second time. Malfoy was nothing but cold and removed and he hurried Harry away as quickly as physically possible. Luckily for Harry, he ran into Lucius as he was leaving. The man was standing on the front walk, feeding his strange albino peacocks with an air of complete relaxation. Harry turned back and realized he could see Malfoy in the back garden through the bushes. Harry watched him for a moment before thinking up utterly asinine questions to ask Lucius Malfoy so he could milk every last moment from his stay.  
  
It didn’t take all that long for Draco to catch him watching. He waited until Lucius got fed up with the increasing ridiculousness of Harry’s questions – “Have you ever tried to charm them different colors?” – before he made his excuses to his mother and stalked over.  
  
He breathed in deeply and turned to look at Harry. “I realize you’re looking for a reason to linger but starting my father on about those damned peacocks really isn’t worth the extra moments. The way he gasconades on about them, you’d think he didn’t have any children at all.” He was smiling that rare, pleased smile as he clearly teased about his father.  
  
Harry shrugged. “Doesn’t really affect me much. I didn’t hear a word he said,” he admitted, staring off at the place where he’d been watching the sun halo Draco and turn his hair golden.  
  
Malfoy pursed his lips. “You can’t have me.”  
  
“I understand.” He eyed Draco carefully. “Just as you understand that you can’t stop me wanting. I was an idiot and I refuse to lose you because of it.“ He smiled and said agreeably, “Until I think up another excuse to see you, Draco.”  
  
Malfoy squinted against the light and, without looking back at Harry, said, “Don’t come back here, Potter.”  
  
Harry grinned. “I can’t promise it and I wouldn’t dare try.”  
  
Malfoy huffed a little but Harry noticed the answering smile tugging at his lips. “Until the next time then?”  
  
Harry nodded. “Goodbye, Draco.”

* * *

Harry was content to wait for Draco to come to him, he really was, but when he found Draco drinking at the bar on the night of Seamus’ party, he knew he couldn’t ignore an invitation as blatant as that. He pulled out the seat next to him and offered nonchalantly, “We could start over, you know. We did once.”  
  
Draco spooked a bit before he snorted into his beer. “Merlin, Potter, exactly how many times do you have to try at something before you’ll admit you’ve failed?”  
  
“Three,” Harry answered with a grin, holding out his hand to Draco. “Truce?”  
  
Malfoy eyed it like it was something nasty. “Fetial of you, Potter,” he said with his lip raised in distaste, “but we’ll always be at war.”  
  
“I don’t believe that,” Harry said and, all of a sudden, he really didn’t. The time for war had passed. They would find their way back to one another again and Harry couldn’t explain how he knew it, but he did. He felt it all the way down to the tops of his toes and he found himself smiling a little half-smile.  
  
Malfoy snorted, not realizing what Harry only just had – that this was all just window dressing, just the requisite obstacles blocking the inevitable end. Draco would try to hurt him, would date other men and ignore Harry’s attempts to make amends but eventually they’d find themselves together again. It would take time. Malfoys didn’t forgive easily and it would be years before Harry gained back Malfoy’s trust, let alone anything more. Harry just had to be willing to wait. And he was. “You’re the one who’s proved it,” Malfoy accused. He pushed his empty drink across the bar and pulled his cloak off the back of his chair. “I can’t stay,” he explained.  
  
Harry thought he sensed a bit of disappointment in the statement but that might have been wishful thinking on his part. He shook his head and corrected, “You won’t.”  
  
Malfoy looked as if he meant to argue it for a moment before he pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes, I won’t.”  
  
It hurt but it was only a momentary sting. It would all shake out right; Harry just had to be patient. “But you’ll be back,” Harry said as though he was finishing Malfoy’s sentence.  
  
Malfoy’s grey eyes were laughing and Harry knew this wouldn’t be the last time he saw them that way. “Will I?” Malfoy asked, an amused twist to the lips Harry loved so well as he gathered up his coat.  
  
Harry swallowed down the ice in his drink and grinned. “Oh I don’t doubt it,” and he really didn’t, “not for a second.” Malfoy offered him one last enigmatic look but the warmth in his eyes was obvious to anyone who’d studied them as long as Harry had. Harry watched Malfoy leave and he allowed himself to be happy for the first time in a long time.  
  
He grinned down at the bar, a wobbly Harry grinning back up at him. “Another drink, Tom. Today’s been a really good day.”


End file.
